


Parties and Plot Gaps

by Delia_Maguire



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:25:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13770897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delia_Maguire/pseuds/Delia_Maguire
Summary: My answer to Thomas wondering "When and how Minho had taken the leadership role from Jorge."





	Parties and Plot Gaps

“We have to go. Fuck. We have to get out of this city.” Jorge was muttering, running tan hands through short, dark hair as he paced anxiously about but, his words fell on deaf ears.

All Minho could do was stare at the pile of rocks and rubble that had been a building naught but a few moments ago. He walked up to it numbly and placed a hand against the stone, coughing roughly as dust filled his lungs, an unsettled cloud of the shit hanging still in the stale air. His throat burned as he squinted his eyes against the sting of the airborne grime; but he couldn't worry about that at the moment. 

“Thomas!” Minho called, cupping his hands around his mouth to project the sound before pressing himself against the mountain of twisted metal and dirt and hoping against hope to catch a reply. He needed to hear the boy’s voice. To know he was okay. 

“We need to move! We need to move right now!” Jorge demanded urgently, panic lacing the man's voice as Minho finally spun to face him, scowling in distaste. 

“We're not going anywhere without Thomas.” The Asian boy asserted defiantly, his voice as cold and unrelenting as steel.

“You listen to me, pretty boy. “ Jorge growled, jabbing a finger at Minho and stalking towards him. “If birdface isn't smashed under a fucking boulder or having his organs ripped out by a crank then he’s with Brenda and she's gonna tell him the exact same thing.” The Hispanic man asserted, leaning in to spit the words directly in the runner's face only to be shoved back roughly as the kid snarled, apparently disliking the mention of Thomas’s imagined demise. 

“No, you listen to me! Without your cranked up goonies, there's a whole lot more of us than there are of you.” Minho growled, narrowing his eyes at the guy and stepping toward him. “And we’re not leaving without Thomas.” He stated, the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument as he looked long at the Hispanic, his gaze daring him to challenge the order. 

There was a long, tense moment in which no one moved or spoke. The Gladers looked on with wide eyes, shifting uncomfortably as the two men stared at one another, neither seeming willing to back down.

“Fine. If you want to be torn limb from limb by hideous monstrosities, be my guest.” Jorge finally relented, sighing anxiously and running his hands through his hair once more as Minho merely smirked victoriously and the Gladers visibly relaxed, apparently comforted by the assertion of a leader. 

The next few days were hell. They spent the daylight hours hiding away in ransacked buildings, unable to bear the scorching rays of the sun upon them and unwilling to risk walking the streets without the cover of darkness to conceal them. At night, they scoured the city for any sign of their missing companion, spreading out to cover more ground and not meeting up again until the sun began to crest the horizon, hot golden rays driving them back into the shade where they’d catch what few moments of sleep they were able. Just as Jorge had detailed, the streets were constantly crawling with cranks, the monsters naught but horrible, shambling remnants of human life. 

The worst were the ones that weren't quite gone yet, still recognizable as a sentient being but yet such an abomination at the same time. The way their human voice cackled out maniacal ramblings as they slowly slipped into insanity was maddening to listen to as the Glader’s tried desperately to tune it out and rest.

Despite the horribleness of their incessant sounds, the cranks weren't really a problem for Minho, for he was never able to sleep anyway. Every time he let his dark eyes fall closed, all he could see was Thomas meeting an untimely demise. 

One night he might picture the boy's body broken and crushed under piles of rubble. Another he might imagine him laying in a ditch somewhere, barely recognizable as cranks ripped and tore at his pale flesh. Either way, sleep was no longer a valid option. He'd decided that the night he'd found himself dreaming of the first time he'd really met Thomas. 

It had been Jorge’s fault, really; the second night they'd been searching the guy had the audacity to spit out the phrase “We need to leave him,” and the result had been a vivid nightmare where Minho found himself trapped within the familiar stone walls of the Maze once more.

_ “We have to split up — it's our only chance. Just keep moving. Don't stop moving!" He heard his own voice cry out and his eyes fell on a horrified looking Thomas, hazel eyes blown wide with fear and every ounce of blood drained from the boy’s face.  _

_ “Minho! Wait! Don't -” Thomas sputtered quickly, his voice laced with fear as he took a small step forward and reached out a desperate hand, urging the boy to stay but Minho was already moving. His body worked against his will, carrying him away from the terrified teen despite his desperate attempts to halt his own retreat. He tried everything under the sun; he planted his feet, locked every muscle in his body, even tried tripping himself for shucks sake - But he couldn't convince himself to stop. It was if he was a spectator to his own life and with that thought his stomach twisted sickeningly and he realized that this had all already happened; He’d abandon Thomas to the maze that night.   _

_ Inexplicably, his retreat came to a sudden halt and abruptly he had control again. He flexed his fingers experimentally, unsure of what had just transpired but grateful for the sudden change as he quickly turned on a heel and started back the way he'd came.  _

_ He traced his steps and thought back to the first night as he knew it, following the winding pathway that had led him to Thomas back then, desperately hoping that it would do the same now. It was difficult, darkness swamped the scenery and nothing seemed familiar through the haze of terror that threatened to engulf him. How could he leave Thomas? He should've never -  _

_ All thoughts were abruptly cut off as the familiar, feared sound of a Griever met his straining ears; the horrible squelch of moist flesh accompanied by the sickening grinding of metal gears near deafening as he approached the corridor it seemed to be coming from. He recoiled from the noise, shuddering at the thought of coming face to face with one of the beasts again but at the same time hope lit in his chest. If this night continued as he remembered it, then that Griever would mark Thomas’s location and the boy would be safe. Minho could take him to the cliff, fool the monsters, and protect his friend for the rest of the night like he should’ve done in the first place.  _

_ As he turned the corner to stare expectantly down the hallway however, his hope died and his heart froze, feeling as if someone had ripped it from his chest and squeezed it until it burst. The night failed to follow the same course as it's twin and had altered itself drastically for the worst..  _

_ Thomas was there all right, just as Minho thought he should be, but he was not safe and unharmed as he was supposed to be. Quite the opposite in fact, as the gray stone wall was stained crimson where the boy was pinned against it by the monstrosity, a thick, metal appendage drove through his abdomen, keeping him in place.  _

_ “Thomas!” Minho screamed, the name ripping itself from his throat like a blade as he staggered toward the scene, stumbling as nausea came over him in a wave, sending him to his knees. The Griever was gone. Minho didn't know where it went. It didn't matter. All the mattered was that Thomas lay slumped against the stone, his blood smeared down from where he'd been pinned to reveal his line of descent and beginning to pool around where he now lay on the stone floor, creeping out ever father from his body in dark tendrils.  _

_ “Shuck. Oh shuck, Thomas. No, no, no, no.” Minho whimpered numbly, dragging himself across the rough, frigid ground over to the boy - Who made no moves to indicate he was aware of his friend’s arrival. The situation only looked grimmer up close and Minho had to squeeze his eyes shut for a long moment to avoid throwing up everything he’d ever ate, the sight too much for him to bear. When he opened his dark orbs again, they stung with unshed tears, his eyes burning as he took in the dismal scene.  _

_ Thomas’s skin looked much paler than usual, his tone far too white to be healthy and contrasting starkly against the deep crimson staining the entirety of his lower body. His stomach was a mess, nothing but red gore and shredded flesh was left of the kid's abdomen as blood poured freely from the wound, puddling around his small body. The runner's honey eyes were wide open, but the hazel orbs were glazed over with pain as he whimpered out a weak wail then let out a spluttering cough that left blood trailing from his pink lips and dripping from his chin. _

_ The worst part, by far, though was the twitching. Thomas’s body jerked every few moments, convulsing as he struggled to gasp air into mangled lungs. His body went rigid with the strain of it, his eyes rolling back as his fingers twisted desperately into thin air.  _

_ “This isn't how it's supposed to go!” Minho protested in a broken wail, his voice cracking into a sob as he pushed his hands against the wound in an attempt to stop the bleeding. The warm, sticky liquid coated his shaking hands as tears began to roll down his cheeks but the injury was just too large and the fluid pooled past his fingers easily, staining his arms with its ruby radiance. Realizing he was doing no good, Minho let his hands fall from their position with a defeated wail of agony and remorse. It was no use. Thomas had already lost too much blood.  _

_ The Keeper gathered his Runner up in his strong arms, pulling the bleeding boy close as he began to rock them, not knowing what else to do. Thomas’s blood soaked through his own shirt, ruining it as the brunette twisted his fingers into the cloth of the older teen’s clothes and clung weakly to him. Hot, wet tears stained the Asian’s face as he hung his head low in defeat, letting the drops fall onto his companion as the kid struggled to meet his sorrowful gaze.  _

_ “Why?” Thomas groaned scratchily, as if he were barely able to force that one single word past his lips as honey eyes stared into Minho’s, bewilderment and hurt brimming in those hazel orbs. “Why did you leave?” The kid whimpered pathetically before his words fell away to a heavy cough that sent ruby droplets splattering onto Minho’s pale cheeks.  _

_ Before he could reply, the kid went stiff in his arms, shaking as every muscle went rigid and his eyes rolled back in his skull. A wet gurgle sounded from the back of his friend’s throat and Minho could do naught but watch in horror as the boy convulsed in his arms, jerking dramatically despite the steely grip the older teen held on him. _

_ “I'm sorry! I'm so shucking sorry, Thomas, please. I couldn't... I would never!” Minho begged, but he  _ **_had._ ** _ He left the boy for dead, despite the fact that the kid had put his own life at risk to help him. He failed. He killed his best friend. He -  _

“For shucks sake, Minho! Wake up!” Someone hissed in his ear and the Asian shot straight up in an instant, gasping in a huge, gulping breath of air as he came to. He wasn't in the maze. No, he was in some collapsed building, huddled in a corner as sunlight burned through cracks in the broken cement and illuminated the scene. The other Gladers and Jorge were all lying here and there in the rundown shack, partially hidden from his view as a blond boy sat directly in front of him, staring at him with concern filled eyes. 

“It's a bloody wonder you didn't bring every crank in the city down on us.” Newt huffed, sounding irritated but still staring at his friend with that same worried gaze. 

“Whaddya mean?” Minho questioned defensively, but when he spoke his voice came out scratchy and his throat felt raw as if he'd been screaming for hours. Newt merely quirked an unimpressed eyebrow at the other boy and Minho sighed in defeat, realizing there was no hiding from the Brit as he leaned back on his hands and let the images from his dream wash over him. His whole body shook at the memory and he rubbed hurriedly at his wet cheeks, hoping the blond would spare him some dignity and not mention it. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Newt asked slowly after a few long moments of silence but Minho immediately shook his head, wanting nothing less than to reminisce on the nightmare.

“I just want to find Thomas and get outta this shuck city.” Minho asserted surely, setting his gaze determinedly toward the door of their hiding place, silently vowing never to let the vision of Thomas bleeding out in his arms come true. Newt stayed quiet for a long moment and Minho began to push himself up, preparing to wake the Gladers and resume his hunt but the sound of the blond’s voice halted him.

“You love him, don't you?” Newt asked softly, voice void of the teasing tone Minho would expect with such a ludicrous statement. He whipped around to glare at his friend, ready to tell him to shuck off and stop being such an idiot but the unexpected seriousness he saw in Newt’s gaze made him freeze. The teen's blue eyes swam with pity and understanding, as if he knew exactly what Minho was going through and the Asian found himself reminded of the desperation he'd seen the blond display when they’d lost Alby. 

The Brit had been wild, so intent on getting to the dark skinned boy that he'd almost run straight into the claws of a Griever -  Would have if Thomas and Minho hadn't held him back. 

Was that the same as him running around a crank infested metropolis in search of Thomas? Did he love the boy..? The thought of losing the brunette did make him physically ill and all he really wanted to do was hold the kid close and protect him from all the dangers of the world… 

“I found them!” Frypan’s voice suddenly blasted through the quiet before Minho had a chance to respond, the front door slamming open as the cook bolted inside like a rocket, cutting him off. The Asian boy sprang to his feet in an instant, pushing past a startled Newt and making his way over to the newcomer in a matter of seconds. 

“Where? Is he okay?” Questions poured out of Minho’s mouth quicker than his friend could answer them as he grabbed the dark skinned boy by the shoulders, unable to contain the elation and fear that surged through his veins, each battling for dominance in his mind. 

“Is Brenda there too?” The sharp question came from Jorge, his voice audibly strained as he came to stand beside the two younger boys.

“Why didn't you bring them back with you?” Minho demanded, an anxious note evident in his tone as he and Jorge crowded Frypan, getting into the cook’s face as they demanded answers. 

“Whoah.  Whoah. One at a time!” Frypan protested desperately, holding his hands up in a pacifying gesture and taking a step back from the two males aggressively crowding his personal space. 

Reluctantly, Minho released his grip on his companion’s shirt and drew back from him, resigning himself to waiting with bated breath to hear what had become of his best friend.

Frypan detailed how he'd seen Thomas and Brenda be taken by a group of cranks, how some maniac had pulled a gun on their missing companions and shanghaied them off into some loonie’s party. Minho’s blood boiled as the dark skinned boy described the scene, anger at the thought of someone threatening his friend sending hot white streaks of anger through him and it took every ounce of willpower he had not to storm out of the building right now and kill whoever dared stand between him and Thomas.

“Well, no use standing around here. Let's go get ‘em.” Minho asserted with a firm note of finality, clapping his hands together and beginning to step towards the door before anyone could stop him.

“Um, how about a plan? Some time to prepare? Ya know, at least make an attempt not to get our bloody organs ripped out by a bunch of half-gone lunatics” Newt huffed irritably, crossing his arms over his wide chest and cocking an unimpressed eyebrow at the Asian boy. 

Minho stared at the blond for a long moment, his expression blank and unreadable before it twisted into an angry scowl. “Thomas has been missing for days,” Minho growled in a low voice, rage smoldering in his dark eyes as he stared down the Brit. “And now you wanna wait?” The Runner snarled dangerously, his voice getting progressively louder as he grit his teeth in aggravation, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“Look, Minho, I know…” Newt began with an anxious sigh, but let his words trail off unfinished. “I'm just saying maybe we should play this a little carefully, you know?” The blond explained after a moment of tense silence, looking imploringly at the enraged teen.

“Newt, we have no idea what those cranks are doing to him, Right. Now.” Minho pressed, rage lacing his voice as he stepped toward the blond, flexing his fingers to keep them from balling into fists. “I'm not about to let some crazy dude do whatever crank klunk he feels like to Thomas, just because you want to sit around here and stall.” The Runner hissed angrily, earning an exasperated eye roll from Newt as he stared daggers into the boy. 

Neither teen spoke, tension hanging in the air like a fog as they glared unrelentingly at one another, each unwilling to back down.

“Hate to say it, hermano; but for once, I agree with hot-head over here.” Jorge broke the silence after a long, tense moment. He pushed off the far wall he'd been leaning silently against for some time and began stalking forward, sweeping his hard gaze over the crowd of curious onlookers. “Enough is enough. Let's go get our people back.” He asserted surely, he kept his voice level but his dark eyes blazed with determination as he came to stand beside Minho. 

No one opposed him and Newt merely groaned in defeat before throwing his hands up in exasperation, sighing loud and heavy as Minho spun around and retreated out of the large wooden door, the group trailing in his wake.

Frypan led them through the broken, sunbleached streets as quickly as he could, the group only pausing to duck inside buildings when the occasional crank wandered by. The monsters seemed to hate the heat as much as the Gladers did so the road was mostly abandoned, allowing the teens to progress quickly toward their destination. 

The blazing sun burned Minho’s sensitive skin as he led his companions ever onwards, its harsh rays beating down incessantly upon him, but he barely felt the scorching light. Thomas was found. Thomas was alive. That was all that mattered. 

The group pulled up short in front of a small, unimportant looking building with once white, now yellowing, paint peeling from broken walls and cracked stairs leading down to a shabby wooden door, the material splintered and cracked in places. Music, dull and bassey, blared from the building, throbbing in Minho’s skull and drowning out his thoughts as he surveyed the scene critically, analyzing the situation and planning his attack.

“All this waiting around is pointless, let’s just crash this crank party.” Jorge hissed directly into the Asian’s ear, shifting impatiently about as he eyed the building. For once, Minho had to agree with the guy. He was tired of being kept away from Thomas, constantly imagining countless horrific scenarios that might have befallen his friend. Plan or no plan, he was getting Thomas back. Now. 

The Runner shot Jorge a curt, stiff nod of acknowledgement before immediately pushing himself to his feet, hearing the man stand up beside him. 

“We’re going to die.” Newt huffed irritably from somewhere in the background but Minho stubbornly ignored the comment and began stalking toward the house, determination hardening his gaze as he pulled a long knife from his belt. 

The music shook the Runner to the core, drowning out all else as he finally came to stand in front of the rickety door, where he paused only momentarily to consider if this was really a good idea or not. It was odd that no one had tried to stop them yet. No guards or henchman blocked their entryway and no elaborate security systems existed to detain them; but the teen simply couldn't bring himself to care.

“Alright, party's over!” Minho announced dramatically, throwing his body against the door and slamming it wide open to reveal the room within. Immediately, the kid realized why they’d met no opposition - The inhabitants of the building were all either passed out on the ground or so drunk they barely noticed the arrival of the new group. 

“Welcome to the party!” A girl slurred, stumbling towards them with outstretched arms and a stupid grin plastered across her face. Well, what was left of her face anyway. The woman was hideous, patches of flesh had been clawed away from her face, leaving huge, grotesque gashes where features had once been. A long trail of scabbing skin and inflamed flesh winding from her right eye down to where her lower lip was crusted with dry blood was the worst of the gaping wounds but it was only one of many festering gorges attracting flies to the girl. 

Minho didn't answer. He gagged as he fought back the urge to barf at the sight and stumbled back from the oncoming crank, holding his pocket knife defensively out in front of him as he went. More of the party goers began to crowd in on the group, eyeing the Gladers with interest as a few hideously excited cackles escaped the creature’s lips. 

The Asian began sweeping his weapon through the air in front of him, daring anyone to get close as he recovered from his initial shock and took a dangerous step forward, glaring at the monsters challengingly. “Where's Thomas?” Minho demanded in an angry whisper, moving forward toward the scarred woman threateningly.

“And here I thought I'd seen the dumbest of your ideas, Minho. You never cease to surprise me.” Newt huffed irritably, appearing seemingly out of thin air at the Asian’s side as the cranks shrunk back. 

The Runner turned to glare pointedly at the blond, a smart reply on the tip of his tongue when the ugly crank spoke once more, heading off his sarcasm. “Minho?” Scar-Face repeated slowly, her milky eyes widening with amazement as she mouthed the name. 

“That's what he said, isn't it?” Jorge suddenly huffed before the boy in question had a chance to respond, aggravation rolling off the Hispanic man in waves as he pushed his way through the crowd. “Where's Brenda?” He growled, voice low and dangerous as he stalked toward the mutilated woman, venom dripping from his words. 

The girl acted as if she hadn't heard him, keeping her wide, dead eyes fixed on Minho even when Jorge came to stand directly in front of her. “Minho,” Scar-Face whispered, voice dull and monotonous as her glazed orbs fixed relentlessly on the teen. “That name… “ She continued but then paused once more, her gaze becoming thoughtful as she eyed him, as if she were trying to remember where exactly she’d heard the title. “The boy - When he was out - He… He called for you.” The woman finally concluded tentatively before her eyes widened and realization seemed to come over her and she burst into a sick fit of giggles. “It's a fucking fairytale!” The girl wheezed, a horrible, broken sound that reminded Minho of someone dragging their nails down a chalkboard.

“Fairytale?” Newt questioned incredulously, leaning sideways to whisper the word to his friend out of the corner of his mouth, an unimpressed eyebrow quirked.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah… Fairytale? What are you on about?” Minho stuttered, stumbling through his reply once prompted by his companion. To be truthful, he hadn't even realized the woman had went on speaking, too preoccupied with her previous declaration - Thomas called for him, of all people? He couldn't explain why, or maybe just didn't want to face those notions yet, but the information sent a warm, pleasant sensation over Minho and he struggled to restrain his lips from tugging into a smile.

But there was that other part too, “out.” What the shuck did she mean “out?” There were about a million different, all equally horrible, explanations ready to present themselves in the Runner’s mind and only one thing was for sure, he didn't like the word. He wanted to find Thomas and get him out of there, now.

“You're here to rescue your damsel in distress.” Scar-Face replied simply, the humor that had been there mere moments ago suddenly absent from her voice.

“We checked everyone, he's not here!” Frypan interrupted before Minho had a chance to process the response, the concern in his friend's voice leaving the Asian on edge as he scanned the room. The Runner bit his lip anxiously as his sweeping gaze ran over the faces of the people crowded into the tight space and found no sign of familiar hazel orbs or mole speckled cheeks. Fear gripped his weak heart, sending cold chills over his skin as a foreboding feeling pooled in his gut and he moved on instinct alone.

“Damn right I am! Now, Where. Is. He.” Minho demanded angrily, darting forward to grab the crank woman by the collar of her tattered shirt and punctuating each word with a forceful shake as worry translated into anger. The girl sputtered helplessly, struggling to escape the steely grip of her captor to no avail, flailing wildly and clawing at the Asian’s hands uselessly as he merely growled and tightened his grip. 

“What the hell is this?” A loud voice, smooth with cunning yet ragged with insanity, brought the conversation to an abrupt end as Minho whipped his head up to see a door on the far side of the room burst open. A short man with bleach blonde hair glared angrily at the newcomers, a tall man clutching a knife in one hand and a girl wielding a screwdriver for shucks sake on either side of him. 

Minho's eyes flicked momentarily to the weaponry and his stomach twisted as he caught sight of a crimson stain marring the silver metal of the girl's tool. He swore, if he found out that a single drop of that blood was Thomas's he’d shove that screwdriver so far up that hoebag’s ass she'd taste metal. 

“We're here for our friends!” Minho spat, holding his own knife defensively in front of himself  as he stalked bravely toward the new arrivals, glaring dangerously at each one individually.

He was angry. He was so shucking angry. Rage boiled in his blood and loathing seethed beneath his skin. - But more than that he was scared. He was terrified. These people were crazy and he still hadn't seen Thomas, and now some girl decided to show up with blood on a screwdriver for crying out loud. A screwdriver! Thomas could easily be bleeding out, tormented and dying, wondering why Minho had abandon him - And that was assuming the boy was even still alive.

“Be my guest.” Blondie offered quickly, fear evident in his ocean blue eyes as he made a grandiose gesture towards the door he and his goonies had just burst out of.

Minho admittedly probably should've hesitated, at least for a brief moment, but, to be truthful, he did no such thing. The Asian took off towards the door like a shot, shoving the crank party hosts out of the way in his haste, not able to convince himself to worry about them at the moment as he threw himself into the dark stairwell beyond the doorway. It had to be too easy. 

Time seemed to slow as Minho rounded the corner and stumbled uncouthly down the first few rickety steps, eyes wide and searching the darkness below him as every muscle in his body seemed to go tense. However, the light from the room above filtered weakly down to the bottom of the musky staircase and fell pathetically onto the room below, finally revealing what he’d sought for so long. Thomas.

The brunette looked worse for wear, his untamed hair was scruffy and tangled, falling into his eyes, and his pale face was smudged with grime and sweat. The teen was roped to a chair as well, with Brenda tied up similarly nearby, which was, admittedly, rather concerning, but his honey eyes were wide and alert, shining with disbelief and hope as his head snapped up and they fell on Minho.

“Don't you two look comfy?” Minho joked lightly, trying not to sound as unbelievably relieved as he actually was in that moment. Happiness, pure ecstatic elation, crashed over him in waves as he moved down the steps to retrieve his friend. Thomas was alive! After everything, he'd finally found his best friend and he was safe. He saved Thomas. 

Minho grinned like an idiot, throwing any hopes of a cool and kosher entrance out the window as he reached the bottom of the steps. He couldn't restrain the wide, relieved smile if he tried; and the way Thomas’s own lips weakly tugged upward in return assured him he didn't want to anyway.

“How did you..?” Thomas began, honey eyes trained on Minho’s every move with such intensity that the Asian was pretty sure the kid thought he'd disappear if he dare broke his gaze.

“You think we were gonna let those shanks do anything to you?” Minho scoffed dismissively, as if the notion were something ridiculous and Thomas should've known his Keeper would come for him all along. 

“You really don't know how glad I am to see you alive.” Thomas sighed contentedly, relief evident in his voice as if he were the one to be worried after Minho had spent every night for the past week imagining his friend's untimely demise at the hands of a pack of half-gone cranks.

The brunette squirmed in his restraints as the Asian dug the knife he still held clasped in one hand into the ropes and began sawing at them, making quick work of the tattered cords. The Runner moved on to do the same for Brenda, who had been so uncharacteristically quiet Minho had almost failed to notice her in his excitement at having Thomas again. 

“Ohh. Anybody got any Aspirin?” Thomas moaned unhappily, stumbling back into his chair after a failed attempt to rise as Minho finished slicing Brenda’s ties and the ropes last fraying strands split with a snap. 

“Sorry, dude, but we’ll have to worry about your headache later.” Minho apologized anxiously as Brenda stalked away from the pair, rubbing her wrists and refusing to look at either of them.

“It won't take long for these guys to figure out there's more of them than there are of us.” The Asian explained hurriedly, moving back to his friend to aid him as Thomas steeled himself and nodded, determination hardening hazel eyes. Minho held a hand out to the other boy, who took it graciously, shooting the Keeper a small, thankful smile as the older male hauled him up. “Such a man!” Minho congratulated his companion, flashing him an encouraging smile and letting him lean subtly against him as they made their way to the steps.

Brenda shot them a quick, dirty look before stalking up the rickety, wooden staircase, looking offended and insulted. Minho quirked a questioning eyebrow at Thomas but the brunette merely rolled his eyes and shrugged in response, shaking his head dismissively. For some reason, the interaction made Minho’s lips tug into a cocky smirk; and he had to admit, it felt good to have his best friend back. He'd missed joking around with the boy.

Minho couldn't have been happier as he and Thomas made their way through the crowd and toward the door. A few of the Glader’s moved excitedly forward to greet their returned comrade but Minho glared pointedly at the boys whenever more than one or two came at a time, sure Thomas and his migraine wouldn't appreciate being bombarded by their friends.

Eventually, he finally had it down to just Newt and himself on either side of the rescued boy as Thomas surveyed the scene, awe brimming in his hazel eyes as he took in the sight, but there was also a hint of something else in his honey orbs… Worry? Fear?

“Minho,” Thomas whispered, drawing the boy in question closer. “There was a blond guy. Short hair. Seemed like the leader?” Thomas whispered, leaning his head in so only Newt and Minho could hear him. The teen kept his voice void of emotion but Minho didn't miss the way his eyes darted anxiously over the faces in the crowd.

“You worried about him?” Minho inquired in a hushed tone, concern evident in his voice as he stared questioningly at his companion. He finally had Thomas back, what could there possibly be to worry about?

“He had a gun.” Thomas hissed worriedly, his anxious gaze never resting as it swept the room and he bit his lower lip slightly in concern. 

“All the more reason to get outta here.” Minho assured the boy confidently, looping an arm around the kid’s shoulder to guide him out the front door. Thomas hesitated momentarily, eyes wide as he cast one last glance at the gathered cranks, but finally he nodded and let the Asian lead him away, apparently comforted by the assurance. 

“If any one of you follows us, you'll be dead as dust before you can say ‘Damn, it was a dumb idea to follow them!’” Minho called out, turning to glare threateningly at the sniveling herd of crank party goers before turning on a heel and retreating, keeping a protective arm slung around Thomas as he went. 

The small group had just crossed the threshold to the outdoors and was beginning to regroup when it all went south.

It all happened so fast, no one could do a thing. First, someone screamed, a scratchy, sick sound laced with lunacy and despair that froze them all in their tracks. Minho whipped around at the noise, eyes falling on a man standing at the top of the stairwell, bleach blonde hair whipping about wildly in the dry wind. Then there was the flash of cold metal, gleaming silver catching the blazing sunlight and reflecting it back so it appeared as if the man had fire clasped in his hands. And finally, the bang.

Minho had never heard anything so loud and horrifying before in his life. The sound ripped through the air, echoing in his skull and pounding in his heart. The noise split his eardrums and shook him to the core as he stumbled back at the sheer force of it - But it was nothing compared to the silence afterwards. The deafening quiet the shot left in its wake was far louder. 

Minho saw Thomas stumble. The boy took a few uncoordinated steps backwards, hazel eyes wide and mouth hanging agape as he stared blankly at nothing, appearing too utterly shocked to think. Then the brunette crumpled to the ground. 

The Asian snapped. Pure, white, blinding rage drove him as he lunged for the crank, unable to think about anything other than the image of Thomas’s honey eyes blown wide as he fell to the floor. 

The man had his gun pointed at him, screaming to stop or he’d shoot. He should probably be scared, some distant, detached part of his mind informed him - But he wasn't. He ran at the guy without pause, barely even noticing when a second bang sounded and something whizzed by him, too enraged to care if the guy filled him with lead that very moment. 

Minho barreled into the treacherous crank, sending them both to the ground as he tackled the man and heard his gun clatter from his hands. The Asian slammed his fist into the guy's nose before the crank had a chance to react. He felt bone crack under the force of his blow but only reaped a grim satisfaction from the sensation. Again. Again. Again. 

“You! You shot Thomas! You shucking shot him!” Minho screamed in the guy's face, spit spraying from his lips as he felt his body tremble with the seething anger that boiled in his blood.

The crank eyed the boy for a long moment, a slight smirk tugging at his busted lips as blood flooded thickly from his smashed nose and leaked into his mouth. 

Finally, the guy snickered, a low guttural sound involving blood gurgling in the back of the man's throat and sputtering up onto his bruised face, staining the already black and purple skin crimson. “Not all fairytales have happy endings.” The monster finally gurgeled out sickly, the words ending in a wet cackle as the man's eyes rolled back in his head, revealing the whites if his swollen eyes.

Minho screamed, a horrible, guttural sound that tore its way from his throat as he grabbed the crank by the collar and slammed him down hard against the cement steps. 

Someone grabbed him by the shoulder, tried to haul him off the dying man, but the Asian shoved them back forcefully and repeated the slamming action once more, staining the gray steps crimson… For a moment he had everything.

“Minho! Minho, stop! Stop!” A voice screamed in his ear and more hands came to restrain him, grabbing him by the loose material of his shirt as they tried to haul him away from Thomas’s attacker to no avail… For one brief, minuscule moment he had everything. He had Thomas. 

“He shot Thomas!” Minho screeched angrily, swinging wildly at whoever dared try to pry him off the prone form of the crank, too driven by bloodlust and a thirst for vengeance to care who he harmed at the moment. “He shucking shot Thomas!” The Asian howled madly, clawing frantically at the air as his companions finally managed to haul him away from the man's still body… For a moment he’d had everything. After scouring the city, he'd saved the boy he cared about more than anyone else. He had Thomas. Thomas was safe. 

The moment he was torn away from his victim, Minho shattered. An abomination of a sound forced its way through his lips, something between a sob and a scream as he went limp in the grip of the others. Hands fell away from him and he staggered numbly over to where Newt was crouched over Thomas a few meters away, stumbling slightly in his shock. 

His friend was pale, too pale, like every ounce of color had drained from the boy’s mole speckled cheeks and his hazel eyes were glazed over in agony. The teen's lips were parted as he struggled to bring in quick, stuttering breaths of air and his fingers clawed desperately into the dirt as whimpers forced their way past his lips. Crimson blossomed from a small hole in the boy's left shoulder, staining the gray dirt underfoot a murky burgundy as it pooled from the wound. 

People were talking around them. The general consensus seemed to be that they needed to get out of the city. Minho couldn't bring himself to listen as he crouched down beside the injured boy and got his hands under the kids arms, desperately wishing Thomas would stop letting out small, pained whines so his heart would refrain from shattering as it currently was. Someone else grabbed the kid's legs and they lifted him on the count of three. Minho refused to ever let himself think about the pained cry of agony the action elicited from the boy ever again.

The next few days were hell. If Minho thought the days in the crank city were bad, he was mistaken. Jorge removed the bullet but Thomas only seemed to be getting worse, becoming paler with each passing day and drifting into consciousness less and less. 

Minho practically begged the boy for each shallow breath his friend took and silently pleaded with whatever gods would listen that the boy’s chest would rise again after each time it fell, the pause between gulping gasps seeming longer every time. 

The Keeper stayed by his Runner's side the whole time, refusing to leave him again as he kept the boy's hand clasped within his own, stubbornly ignoring the fact that the limb always felt much colder than it should. For one moment, he had it all. Now he had nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ~ If you enjoyed, please leave comments :)


End file.
